Adventures in Parenting
by AwfulLawful
Summary: A parody of Dawn Meehan's Pokemon Card auction. She is the originator of this story: not me. I've just played with it. Harry goes grocery shopping with his brood of children many years after the Epilogue.


This story parodies an Ebay add from an Illinois woman named Dawn Meehan selling Pokémon cards that her children had put in the grocery cart. The original story can be read on her blog - it is not mine. It is placed many years after the Epilogue, and Harry's family has expanded to standard Weasley size. I own no part of Skittles or have any stock in them per se, this is merely the item I chose because it is my favorite candy.

* * *

Harry was having an amazingly blissful morning. All of the children were currently asleep as they were understandably tired after yesterday's excitement. Kreacher had made his breakfast without burning anything (the poor elf was getting on in years). The weather was lovely enough for him to open the window and enjoy a cool breeze that smelled of dew while he had his coffee and eggs. Everything was perfect aside from Ginny being out on a Quidditch Tour that would keep her away for a few more months yet to finish out the he was finished eating he stood and went to stand by the window and stretch before he had to get the children out of bed. It was then that he noticed the rather large pile of letters on the porch just outside.

"…Kreacher?" he called.

"Yes, Master?" The elf appeared beside him and stood in the low crouch that his failing back was causing.

"Why is there a large pile of letters on the porch?"

The elf gave him an incredulous look. "Because they wouldn't fit on the table, Master."

Realizing that the elf was having one of those senile days where he was going to treat Harry the same as he did the children, Harry dismissed him and went out to open a few. The first two were unusually large bids on the advert he'd sent to the Daily Prophet the night before, but the third revealed a rather alarming trend; everyone seemed to think his advert was amazing. That made no sense as Harry had only paid for the simple, four-line space anyone else would use in the products section.

Gut churning, he went to the letter box and pulled out his copy of the paper, blanching at the headline. He was accustomed to the most inane details of his life ending up in the papers by now, but this had been a horrific mistake. He'd been so exhausted that he ended the day by writing the tale to amuse himself and sent it to his friend at the Prophet's editing department, asking that she forward the final advert format to the correct department before leaving for the day. She had apparently sold it to her supervisor instead.

Resigned, he sat down to read it.

_**HEAD AUROR POTTER AUCTIONS MUGGLE CANDY – FAMILY STORY OF THE YEAR**_

_I am selling Skittles. They are a Muggle candy which I bought without intending to and only noticed in my bags once I got back home. How did this happen, you ask? My children snuck them into the shopping trolley while I wasn't looking and I managed to miss them while everything was being run through the register. It may sound odd that I failed to notice a box full of these things to those who don't know my family well, so let me explain._

_There are some things in this world that sit at the top in my mind for perilous and frightening experiences, if only because it has been long enough for time to dull some of those memories a bit. One of those things is undoubtedly grocery shopping with the seven of my eight children (the oldest moved out this past summer). As I absolutely despise going to the grocery store, I tend to put it off as long as humanly possible, especially when my wife is off on tour and I must hazard the task on my own. There is a point, though, when it can no longer be avoided; you look through the cabinets and realize the only thing you have left to make lunch with is a few potatoes, a bottle of vinegar, a container of frosting that probably shouldn't be blue, and a stack of inkwells that are "Not supposed to be in the kitchen, so stop putting them here; I don't care if your office is full ~Ginny." _

_Since I usually end up getting mobbed by curious onlookers when I shop in Wizarding areas, I always shop at Muggle supermarkets for groceries. Therefore preparing my children for the expedition requires dressing everyone in Muggle clothes. Before we head out I give the youngest five the same speech I always recite before we do this, and their reaction is always the same; a series of whining that, collectively, resonate into a high-pitched distress alarm resembling the storm alert sirens I can sometimes hear from the Ministry offices._

_The speech is as follows: _

"_We are only getting what is on this list, so don't ask for anything else. Don't put things in the trolley. Don't ask where the Fizzing Whisbees or Chocolate Frogs are- this store doesn't carry them, and they aren't on the list anyway. You cannot pull things off the bottom of the pyramid stacked displays- gravity works and it isn't necessary to test it. Don't put things in the trolley. Nobody may ride in the main basket or on the bottom support of the trolley. There will be no commenting on the clothes or toys or other Muggle things you don't understand; I will explain when we get home. Don't put things in the trolley. Most importantly, don't try to leave your sister at the store again. Understand?"_

_They do not, but we continue anyway._

_Upon arrival we grab two trolleys. I put the baby in a sling while the twin toddlers occupy the child seats in each trolley. The oldest present son pushes the other trolley while my oldest daughter helps me try and keep the two most active children away from the shelves and displays. My oldest daughter is not allowed to push a trolley, ever. Why? Because she inherited my seeker's sight and gets distracted easily, but can't yet get it back quickly enough to avoid hitting me repeatedly. Last time she did this I had bruises on my ankles so big my wife asked if I'd gotten them in an arrest somehow._

_Immediately a woman nearby asks, "Are they all yours?"_

"_Yes," I say cheerfully._

"_You must have your hands full!"_

"_I don't mind. They're fun." This statement is punctuated by the sound of one of the twins screeching while pointing to a neon sign. "Usually."_

_We head to the produce section where all the wonderfully arranged pyramid stacks of colorful fruit are. Miraculously, nobody touches them. One of my toddlers succeeds in snagging a kiwi out of a basket and takes a bite, then immediately spits it out. I barely manage to catch it in my hand. Thankfully, there is a bin nearby and I am able to dump the mess and spend a few moments consoling the child who, obviously, is fussy now from realizing that she doesn't like kiwi. Her sister begins whining sympathetically despite having no idea why her twin is doing it. This continues in an infinite feedback loop of unnecessary noise for a while as, once one twin is calmed, the other is beginning a sympathy tantrum. Eventually they stop. Once I have gathered all of the needed things from that section, I look for the children who are not old enough to behave, strapped to me, or strapped to a trolley. They are playing football with a grapefruit while my oldest daughter is distracted by the honey display. I gather them and put both ruined fruit into the trolley to pay for them before head to the next area._

_On the way there an old man asks, "Are all them kids yours?"_

"_Yes," I say. "But there's one more."_

"_Trying to break a record?" he laughs._

"_Yes actually; my Mother-in-Law's."_

"_Good God! Did you win?"_

_I think about this. "I'm not sure."_

_The instant we pass into the bakery area I realize I forgot the 'don't poke the bread' part of the speech and the statement flings itself out of my mouth while the common sense portion of my brain concerning volume chases after it screaming 'Wait! Wait!' Though my children have heard me and obeyed, I have managed to startle a few of the people near us. The baby begins to fuss at me for startling her too until I retrieve the pacifier from her bag. While I am doing that I hear the gut-wrenching sound of a display of boxes tumbling to the floor. With the baby calm I look to my youngest son, holding a box of cupcakes that he'd taken off the bottom of the pile with a look that clearly said, "I had no idea that would happen!" My oldest daughter cannot be held at fault; she is currently wrangling the other mobile child away from the pies._

"_Didn't I say," I ask in a calm voice managed only through remembering my Auror training, "not to take anything off the bottom of the displays?"_

"_Yes, but you only said the pyramid ones. This one was square."_

_I close my eyes and count to ten, then focus on the positive side: he listened and remembered! I must be more specific next time during the speech. We finish the round there and move on. However, we are interrupted again when a woman with a baby asks if they are all mine. _

"_Yes, but I'm thinking of selling a few. Do you know any Gypsies?"_

_We keep moving whilst the woman is sufficiently befuddled._

_As we approach the meat section my children have begun to misbehave to irreparable levels. They have been here over an hour and a half and have no patience left in their tiny bodies. We are not even halfway through and they are fussing, putting things in the trolley from the candy isle (which we have not gotten to – oldest daughter is distracted again and they have run ahead) and the baby is hungry. I send baby and a bottle with oldest daughter to a rest area and instruct the two mobile children not to take their hands off the trolleys for absolutely any reason. This works for the ten minutes it takes to select the meat and they are itching to be off again. I break down and allow each one to select a single item from the fizzy drinks display nearby if they promise to behave._

_By this time the younger twin is playing escape artist, trying to wriggle her way out of the harness and out of the trolley. Her sister is staring at her with an expression that proves she, at least, knows how to discern when a catastrophic fall is imminent. It's amazing this child has even made it to two without suffering a permanently damaging injury. Deciding it is time to juggle responsibility; I take the wriggling twin and hand her to the oldest son, having the two mobile children help in pushing that trolley instead. The other twin behaves well enough until oldest daughter returns and she decides she wants to be carried too. We trade: I take the baby back, she takes remaining twin._

_The rest of the trip continues in much the same manner. Between juggling responsibility on trolley pushing, holding the youngest three, and trying to keep the two others in control, we manage to fill both trolleys without adding too much to the list. A few old ladies spy us from the pharmacy while we make our way to the registers._

"_Oh, dear. Are all those babies yours?"_

"_No," I say sarcastically. "I don't know why but they just keep following me."_

_Now is the most dangerous part of the store. Muggles, in their infinite wisdom, have decided that the checkout lane is the best place possible to put the secondary candy displays. I am forced to take my time putting things on the counter from two trolleys, picking out things that don't need to be there, asking the cashier to throw out the two pieces of fruit I just paid for, writing a check for pounds I haven't converted from my Gringotts account yet, and keeping four grabby children from plucking things off the candy displays and putting them in the trolley._

_Obviously, I failed. _

_As I am finishing the purchase and getting ready to leave, the cashier simply cannot help himself. "Are they all yours?"_

_"One of the twins might not be. I know the other one is."_

_The boy gets an astonished look. "Really? Which one?"_

_Behind me, I can hear my youngest son facepalm._

_I am selling this box of skittles because I do not want them and I am not going to let my children have them as a reward for their trolley smuggling skills. I cannot return them to the store because, once the display box of packages has been sold and opened, the individual packets cannot be refunded (my children opened the display box on the way home). _

_Bidding begins at two Galleons. Contact Harry Potter._

Harry sighs, rubbing his temples to stem an oncoming headache when he hears the baby begin to cry upstairs. He supposed it didn't matter: it was all for the best if the bidding earned him some extra gold to spend on the kids. They had started the whole thing anyway.

Putting the paper away, he goes on with things. Later that day he accepts someone's bid after sending them a confirmation letter first (Are you certain you want to spend that much? It's just ordinary Muggle candy, I swear.) to be safe that it was a legitimate bid.

Later that week he walks by Honeydukes and groans in dismay when he sees a Skittles display.


End file.
